What the Devil Brings
by abstraction
Summary: But on this night, a murder-night, a blood-soaked sheet night in a house down the lane, there are girls that continue laughing, and magic that continues humming, and there is a man that calls himself Klaus who continues to wonder how of all places, he finds someone he is curious of, drawn to, in the place he once called home. 5 times Caroline totally doesn't want to kiss Klaus.
1. Curse

Someone is placing a curse on Mystic Falls. _Mystic Falls_.

It doesn't begin well, and she can't quite say it ends well either.

.

.

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There's a murder at 2477 Lakeside Drive. It happens quietly, in paisley-patterned sheets, stark white with soft greens seeming too light a backdrop for so much blood. It happens in a bed, in a bedroom, in a house, in the full vaulted dark of midnight, and the atmosphere seems to bloom and shrink when the last breath leaves their lungs, softer than a petal, not heard by anyone. The window is open and it lets in a fresh gust of summer air, bringing with it the sweet silk smell of jasmine and earth.

Three miles from here, a man-shaped shadow stands outside a home, warm and golden light spilling from one of the windows, and there– just there –a flash of blonde hair, the delicate machinery of a laughing throat, a happy trilling of sound that pushes against the glass of that closed window, wanting to escape into the night.

It is Caroline, a dead girl, and it is Klaus, a dead man– she doesn't know, but it's okay, really it is: he doesn't want her to know, not the extent of it, because most of all it's bloody _embarrassing_ is what it is –but what he does know is that from somewhere down the way magic has set the grass and the sky abuzz and it itches on his skin. It smells strange, earthy.

He shrugs it off and watches still, Caroline's form moving from room to room, with each room she enters lighter than before she entered it, and he wants to curse himself for this but it's been too long, and the years have been too unkind. Her friends are there– the doppelganger, the witch –and he hums to himself as one of the girls says his name and _oh, well isn't this interesting_, he thinks. Caroline mock-cries, "Ew, _Klaus_?" in response and laughs with that sweet trill, but it doesn't cover the beautiful flicker of in-drawn breath, the sudden beat of a slow heart. The knowledge of it is thick and heady, and it sets him alight. He can feel it in his fingertips.

He can't see it, he's not aware he's doing it, but his smile is slow-growing like a lunar tide, and in that moment he seems more vulnerable and more a predator than anyone will ever see.

But on this night, a murder-night, a blood-soaked sheet night in a house down the lane, there are girls that continue laughing, and magic that continues humming, and there is a man that calls himself Klaus who continues to wonder how of all places, he finds someone he is curious of, drawn to, in the place he once called home.

.

.

.

There is a second murder. And a third. Sheriff Forbes is backlit by harsh, flashing reds and blues at the scene and she would kill– relatively speaking –for a goddamn crime that wasn't related to vampires or werewolves or _hybrids_ or whatever the hell else is out there. Caroline, when she gets home, is peppy and smiling and saying things like, "Oh, don't worry, mom!" which is a far cry from when, not too long ago it feels like, she would have come home from the station to a cold shoulder or a snippy, "Whatever."

It's the fourth murder, a child– asleep, in bed, night light sprayed with a fine red mist –another tragedy to put on the collection plate and no evidence, no trace of anything at all, when Liz has decided this is more than she can deal with. The FBI wants to push in on the case, and there is just too much in this town, too much quiet, too much of the unnatural, and it would draw attention to... them. To her, to her daughter.

She can admit when she needs a little assistance.

So she asks Damon, and Damon tries but he needs more help, so he laughs at Stefan, and Stefan doesn't tell Elena, but instead comes to Caroline, sits there in the living room with a face so grave she laughs outright until he says what he came to say: "Caroline, your mom needs our help."

"My mom? Stefan, what are you talking about? Is she– is she okay? _What happened?_"

Her voice has raised, has vaulted up entire steps until it rings an octave higher, decibels louder, when she realizes she's no longer sitting in the stupid floral living room chair, and it still takes getting used to, the whole supernaturally-fast-thing. She feels like she's been hit by a livewire, like someone's poured electricity down her spine because she can _feel_ it crackling there and she has to _do something_ because oh God her _mom_–

"No, Caroline, it's fine! She's fine. It's all the murders, you know? Around town?"

A breath. An exhale. A crush of lashes against cheek, a hip check.

"Can I say something first? Yeah, how about you _start off_ with telling me my mom is okay! Jesus, Stefan!"

"Sorry."

"Yeah, you're sorry! Oh my _God_, I was about to go out and rip someone's head off."

Stefan's Tuesday Look falters– it's slightly amused. Jerk.

Caroline sits, legs crossed, forcing back the clinging rush of adrenaline. She thinks for a second how weird it is that she still feels stuff like that– you know, like really human stuff –and how at first she thought being pulled to the other side of death would numb her or something. God, what a reality check vampirism was, seriously.

"So, there are murders?"

"Apparently."

"Okay, but aren't murders more of like, a human thing? Wait, do we have a _serial killer_ or something? Is that what this is about? That is so _creepy_."

"You live in a town with vampires, werewolves, witches, and a hybrid who's been around for literally a thousand years, and serial killers are somehow the creepiest thing."

"What? They are."

Stefan sighs, hangs his head for a moment. The air feels relaxed, casual, and it's nice. She feels good around Stefan, feels a sort of warm camaraderie that's different than what she has with Bonnie, or Elena.

But right now Stefan is totally judging her and that needs to stop.

"Can we get back to the part where my mom needs our help? And why you're the one telling me this and not her?"

"Well, there's no evidence. Anywhere. Damon and I–"

"I'm sorry, are you saying that you and _Damon_ knew about this before I did?"

"–went to the crime scenes, and there's nothing there. No scents, not so much as a speck of dust that can tell us what happened. Just a lot of blood."

"Oh," Caroline breathes. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he says, but she can see a tightening in the corners of his mouth and makes a note to confront him about this later. He needs to talk this kind of thing out, not bottle it up for another hundred and twenty years. He steers carefully past her concern.

"It feels different there, too. I'm not sure what it is. Magic, maybe? But I've never seen anything like it."

"So, this is a Bonnie question, is what you're saying."

"I don't know," he begins, but Caroline can see a map shining in her mind's eye: points of connection to be made before things can start to happen. She was Miss Mystic Falls for a reason.

People sometimes forget this.

"Hold that thought," she says, and slips her phone from her pocket.

.

.

.

"Wait, what are you saying?"

"It's old magic, Caroline," Bonnie says, and there's a dark look in her eyes. "I can't even go in the house."

"Ward?" Stefan posits, and Bonnie shrugs.

They're standing in the yard of the latest victim's house, and it feels almost perverse. It's bright out, and quiet: the world seems to glow, reverberate, though there is no movement, no bird call or rustle of leaves, and it's putting Caroline's teeth on edge. She's not sure how this could have been happening around her, this humming zip in the air that prickles on the back of her neck, and have ignored it for so long. She feels uneasy, feels like her bones are clacking together like loose change inside her skin. A wicked crack of electricity runs through her if she concentrates too hard on where the feeling is coming from.

"Whatever kind of magic it is, it's giving me the heebie-jeebies."

"A very succinct observation, I must admit," says a voice from behind her, and her heart skips. Because she's _startled_, he has a habit of showing up out of nowhere and _startling_ people, okay?

"Klaus," Stefan says. It sounds light but there's steel under that voice. His face is carefully composed.

She tells herself not to, but: she looks. Klaus in the sun is almost blinding, his hair shining and his skin almost flushed, lips a dark rose that open to pearly whites. God, even his _dimples_ are annoying.

"What do you want, Klaus?" she says, and it's part exasperation and part genuine curiosity.

"Hello to you too, Caroline," he says. His eyes are piercing, so near a replica of the sky that it unsettles her.

He turns his attention to Stefan and Bonnie. "I was wondering, actually, when the gang would get together for this one. You'd think it would only have taken the one murder to get your attention, but that's neither here nor there."

"Are you saying you have something to do with this?" Stefan says.

"Oh, Stefan. Always the accusations. Where's the trust?"

"I don't think there was any to begin with. Now answer the question."

"This? No, not me. I know better than to deal with blood magic like this– can you say the same for your bonnie little witch?"

"_Bonnie?_ Seriously? That's your play here?"

"No play involved at all, sweetheart, just calling it as I see it."

"I am _not_. Your _sweetheart_."

There's something curling in Caroline's fingers, in the backs of her knees– an anger, unbidden, clenching in her muscles. But she looks, really looks, at the lines of Klaus' face, sees the marginal drop of his sunlit eyelashes, the self-sure smirk lifting the corner of his mouth and she can't make out what it means. It's infuriating.

"Blood magic," Bonnie says, like acid on her tongue. If looks could kill Originals, Klaus would already be on fire.

"Good to see you're catching on, witch," he drawls. His fingers wind through a hedge, they pick a leaf from a branch and he watches as it drifts to the ground.

"Bad business, using blood magic. You've either got a witch bent on revenge, or someone gearing up for a very naughty spell. You can understand my thinking here, then, with this one," Klaus says with a nod to Bonnie. "She's got more burning for revenge than anyone _in_ this town."

"Then think again, because this isn't me. I would never kill innocent people to power anything."

"So you'd kill guilty ones?"

"I know who I would start with," Bonnie says, sharp as knives.

Klaus hums a little in amusement, holds his hands behind his back and rocks on his heels, as if this were a casual afternoon stroll through the park and not the backyard of a murdered kid.

"Okay enough! Klaus, just– stop. With everything. Bonnie, only set him on fire if he can't help us."

"Fair enough," Klaus says as Bonnie smiles.

"If some witch is killing everyone in Mystic Falls then anyone could be next. _Including my mom_. So this is what we're going to do: Stefan you're going to go with Bonnie and dig up whatever books you can on this. Klaus, you're going to tell us everything you know about blood magic and maybe show your scary face at whoever it is and send the asshole running from our town. Got it? Great! Let's go."

And Caroline thinks that's the end of that, but she should have known.

.

.

.

Bonnie and Stefan figure it out, with a few drawling remarks from Klaus, and being so close to him for so long is fraying Caroline's control. They're on neutral ground: the Salvatores' living room. Or one of them at least. Evening is dimming beyond the windows and if none of them were creatures of the night or magic-casters, or you know, trying to destroy each other at any given point, it would be cozy. But Klaus' eyes keep drifting to her and Caroline can feel it burning on her skin.

"It's a curse," Bonnie says.

"Ugh, God, another one? What is it with witches and their curses? No offense."

Bonnie ignores this.

"It uses the blood of 'those that are pure,' whatever that means– and it creates a barrier where 'no unholy soul may rest.'"

"That doesn't sound so bad, right?"

"Let her keep reading, Caroline. Personally, I'm riveted. I haven't been called an unholy soul in a few centuries, at least."

"Yeah, well, stick around for much longer and that's not the only thing you'll be called."

"Is that an invitation?"

"Guys, this is important," Bonnie cuts.

"What else does it say, Bonnie?" Stefan says, ever the diplomat.

"It doesn't just cut off the supernatural from Mystic Falls, it keeps the whole town in a kind of magical stasis. No one could cross the borders without dying. And it looks like– oh God. It wouldn't be a safe place, it would be a holding cell." Bonnie's knuckles tighten, and she hisses a soft breath between her teeth. "It would be a holding cell for every person in Mystic Falls so this witch could use us as a sacrifice to gain more power. It's the first step in what looks like something a lot bigger. I haven't been able to figure out too much more than this."

"Wow. That sounds like something we should stop," Stefan says.

"You think?" Caroline says. She's standing again, without being aware of the movement. Klaus is using Damon's bourbon to pour himself a glass, light and smooth in his hands.

"Wait, I think–" Bonnie smiles at the tome in her hands, pages brittle and stained with age, and containing words which are plucking Bonnie's joy like ribbons from her chest and casting them into the warm air. Bonnie has always had that kind of magic; the empathy, the easy spread of happiness, or hope, or tragedy. It's been woven into her for a long time.

She laughs. "I can stop the curse. It's not complete yet, they need nine sacrifices. With each one it would be harder for any supernatural being to stay here, and eventually the pain would push you out, but since it's not done– wow. I can do this. I need to figure out what the spell needs, but yeah. I can do this. I can stop it."

"Well, isn't that just lovely. Bonnie Bennett saves the day. I'll be off then, shall I?"

"I'm surprised you stayed this long. I didn't think breaking curses was something you cared about."

"Au contraire, Stefan. Never let it be said I stood by and let Mystic Falls burn. It's a nice place. Good, healthy seasons."

"Whatever," Caroline sighs. "Bye, Klaus, thanks for being even more annoying than usual."

"Always a pleasure," he says, and he leaves. The room changes after he's gone– a drop or gain in pressure, a lightening or darkening of ambience, a swell or shrink of the very walls, she isn't sure. But Caroline sits back down, beside Stefan, and sighs long and loud.

"We didn't even need to get Elena or Matt involved to fix this. That's new," she says eventually.

"I like it," says Stefan.

"Me too," she says.

Bonnie sits quietly in her soft chair, finger drawing a line across the pages as she reads.

It's good. It's great, actually. Bonnie will do her witchy thing, and everything will go back to normal. No Mystic Falls people keeper. There's nothing more she has to do.

.

.

.

"I have to _what?_ Because for a second I thought I heard you say I have to–"

"Kiss Klaus. Yeah."

A pause, a strange dark feeling blooming inside her ribcage. This is not what she wanted to hear. Bonnie's voice sounds hollow on the other end of the phone line, and Caroline's fingers are wrapped tightly around her cell, a breeze inviting cornflower silk strands of her hair to stick to her lips. She pulls them from her face, swallows tight around a knot in her throat.

"Um, Bonnie. No. _No_."

"I know, Care. I know, but there's no other way."

"This is magic! Do something magic! Why do I have to be a part of it at all? Why does _Klaus_?"

A rustling of papers carried across town, a sigh.

"There are certain requirements that need to be met for the spell, and you're the only two that actually fill them enough for this to work."

"What? Seriously? Bonnie, what does that _mean_?"

"Caroline, you just have to put a drop of blood in a bowl and then once I'm done with the incantation, kiss him. It can be for like, not even a second, but it seals the spell. The curse can't be completed."

"Since when have spells needed a _kiss_? This isn't freakin' Sleeping Beauty!"

"I'm sorry," she says, and yeah, Caroline doesn't want the whole town to die but for _God's sake_.

"Ugh," Caroline says. She tilts her head up, feels the night surrounding her, hears creatures waking from their day slumber and joining the world. Somewhere, a chorus of crickets chirp.

"Fine," she says. "But this better work. And you owe me. This is _Klaus_ we're talking about, remember?"

"I know. And I'm sorry. But as far as I can see, this is the only way to do it. I'll get everything together, we can do it tomorrow night."

"Okay, great. Fine."

"I'll call you tom–"

"Wait, who's telling Klaus?"

"Stefan. I'll call you tomorrow, Care."

The line drops. Caroline sits on a bench outside of the Grill and can't make sense of the buzz prickling along her skin, or the tightness of her lungs.

.

.

.

When all is said and done, it's not much of a spell.

Bonnie has, you know, magic herbs and stuff, and they're standing in a room of the dead witch house. How they even managed to get Klaus in is a mystery. Probably Bonnie convinced them she'd just kill him _after_ they broke this curse first.

It's full night, close to midnight, and a new moon has risen. The room is warm, almost unbearably, from the candles Bonnie has set up. There must be fifty of them, white and dripping wax onto centuries-old wood, smoke slowly rising until Caroline's view becomes hazy at the edges, soft and cotton-wooled.

There's a circle with symbols painted on the floor, and Caroline can _feel_ it, the magic there.

Klaus is standing across the room from her, his face half in shadow with the rest of him gilded from the candles' warm glow, and he looks young in that moment– looks young and out of his own era, plucked by Time's earthy fingers and transplanted here to watch with electric eyes and smiling mouth.

She's been having a few thoughts about his mouth today and it's kind of weirding her out.

Bonnie pricks their fingers, squeezes a full red bead of blood from them and into a wooden bowl. Klaus presses his pricked finger to his mouth, and meets her eyes. It sends an abrupt shock through her, a spike of adrenaline or fear or, fuck it all, lust, so Caroline deflects: she rolls her eyes, heaves a put-upon sigh.

And then, suddenly, she's not sure how– it's time. He moves to her with sure steps, pulls her toward him until they stand on a marking that means something beyond time or reason. He's so close, close enough to breathe in, and she does: he smells clean and bright like pine and whatever spiced cologne he wears, and she feels overwhelmed by him, by his smell and his stance and his body, so thoroughly invading her space.

"Now," says Bonnie, and Caroline finds a sigh and pulls it from her lungs.

"Let's get this over with," she says, but Klaus' hand finds her face, the soft pads of his fingers brush over her cheekbone, and with only a slight pressure tilts her head to the left. She feels electric.

Before she can breathe, before she can process anything, his lips press against hers, soft and perfect, and a pressure builds in her blood. Her eyes are closed and his lips are steady, and she tries to think of it clinically, tries to think of the feel of them as nothing more than a warm press and his hand cradling her jaw as some invisible support, but then his mouth opens, just enough. Her body reacts: his bottom lip is full and succulent as ripe fruit between hers and she meets his easy pressure, breathes him in, the fresh pine and the spice and the sweet taste of some dark liquor on the tip of her tongue, flooding her senses. A wave of energy surges from them like a clap of thunder, shaking the world, shaking Caroline down to her bones.

He pulls back, presses his forehead against hers, gives her this moment to breathe, to pull air back into her dead lungs and then he's no longer in her space– he is standing a step away from her and staring with an intensity she isn't sure how to place.

There's a buzzing in her ears, and all Caroline can feel is the tingling mark of his lips on hers, the memory of a tremble rocking through her body and outwards, and she realizes belatedly the buzzing is not a buzz at all, it's Bonnie telling them that the spell is done.

The spell is done and Caroline kissed Klaus– _Klaus_ –and they saved the day and she should be relieved, she should be full of a great and beautiful happiness that they finally got ahead of something just this once, but all she really feels is a twisting burst of warmth in her chest and a sweet dark taste in her mouth.


	2. Tradition

They are at the Grill, the little trio, with night setting down its mantle outdoors, and here inside is the warm chaos of bodies and breathing and the dull drone of hazy music notes. His drink is sunlit copper, steady as a lake in his glass, the glass steady in his hands, his hands steady though his eyes roam their forms. He wonders if they can feel his gaze, or if it is only Caroline– her hair is parted from her face so when she looks down there is a white veil between her and the world, and when she laughs it curls in the hollows of her throat –but any time his eyes linger there, her fingers find a stray curl and push it back into place, a deft flick that hides the way her eyes go unfocussed for a moment, searching for something.

The witch is laughing at a pun and sipping soda through a straw (so harmless looking, a flower that hides a serpent). She had cast the spell nearly a fortnight ago, and still he remembers the scent of her, the taste of her, the press of her, and he can't help but wonder what she felt in that single second to make her accept him so completely, to give him the slow equal press of her mouth on his. _Were you even aware, sweetheart?_ he wonders. Of the thunder that had crashed from them, the lightning in her blood, the taste of coffee and sugar and mint, the smell of soap, Chanel, and earth?

He sips his drink, and doesn't feel it sting– nothing has burned him down in so long besides this girl, this bright lily of the valley, with her poison fruit and sun-ripe beauty. She is life itself, he sometimes thinks, the Persephone of his dark winters, and she doesn't see– she doesn't even _realize_.

"Oh!" Caroline says, like the bloody sun has come out from years behind the clouds. "You guys, I almost forgot! We have to prepare for the Mystic Falls Summer Solstice Ball. So, when are we shopping."

Their voices roll in and out, a tide of giggles, of whispers and lipsticks and oh God did you _see_ her dress last year, and then suddenly his ears ring: "So, what, are you going to ask Klaus to this thing? I mean, you were kind of making out with him."

"What! Bonnie, no! There was no making out! And it was _your_ fault, you couldn't do the freakin' spell without it. Which _worked_ if you remember, so you should be thanking me."

"Yeah, Caroline, you did _all_ the work."

"You know what I mean, Bon!"

"Yeah but what I want to know," Elena says, and then leans in closer, a half-whisper masking her laugh, "how was it?"

"Elena!"

"Shh, Bonnie, you know you're curious."

"Curious? About how a thousand year-old murdering psychopath kisses? Not really."

"Well," says Caroline, after a moment. Klaus' ears strain, hears the slow beat of her blood, the whisper of her hair against her throat, the flat hiss of sound her fingers make on the table as they trace something into the wood.

"Well, what? Spill!" Elena says.

"_Well_," she starts, "he _has_ had a thousand years to practice."

Elena is the first to laugh, then Caroline, and then the witch too. They dissolve entirely into echoes of each other's joy and when they are finished they sip their drinks and arrange the best day for manicures, and the moment is over but it still rings in him, through and through.

.

.

.

They're cross-legged on Elena's bed. It's so warm outside that the windows are shut, and the air conditioner circles cool air into each room, fills them to the brim with autumn's cool fingers. The hum of it mixes with whoever is crooning one of the Top 40's from Elena's phone. It feels like years since they've done this, and if time were distance they are so far away that they would be tiny figures from where they are now, waving.

"Do you have your dress?" Elena asks. She tucks her hair behind her ear in a move that hits Caroline in the ribs. It's like they're just starting high school again, trying to one-up each other about the Winter Formal.

"Yeah! I found this amazing vintage gown with green lace. It's _perfect_, I thought for sure I would have to reuse my Miss Mystic Falls dress."

"That one's really pretty too, though."

"I guess. Hey, Elena," Caroline says, and feels a phantom limb of sorrow, suddenly, for no reason at all. It's just that there's so much time between them now, here in this moment, and the girls they used to be.

"Are you taking anyone? Or are you and Bonnie going to go alone? Like friends date?"

"I don't know. Probably alone. I need to spend some time figuring out things for myself. Why?"

"I wanted to ask Stefan to go? I _have_ to have a date, it's stupid Mystic Falls tradition and Matt couldn't get off work and they've just been giving him so many shifts lately and I thought if like, Stefan and I went as friends I wouldn't have to be assigned an escort like that one time–"

"Caroline, it's fine. It's great, yeah, you should definitely ask Stefan. I'm sure he'd love to go."

"Okay," she says, and lets out a breath held captive by her lungs. "I didn't want it to be weird."

"It's not weird, Care. We're all friends. I mean, who else were you going to ask? Klaus?"

"Yeah, right, like that would happen in a million years."

She is struck by how hard she tries not to think about it. All that time left– immeasurable.

And deep down, Caroline wonders if that's the real joke.

.

.

.

The Fell Manor is summer incarnate, lush and draped in greens and whites: night-blooming jasmine climbs each wall and wrought-iron gate, roses bloom full in the garden, dogwood lines the entrance to a small hedge maze, and everywhere are the families of Mystic Falls chatting in gowns long and short, the men relaxed in their suits, champagne bubbling on each of their tongues.

For Mystic Falls, the summer solstice is invariably the most loved, the longest day ensuring the shortest night, and thus depriving precious hours for the undead to haunt the living. It's become obvious, now, since the veil of the town parted, that this is why everyone celebrates the midsummer so fully: there can be no vampires. Which is why, when Caroline steps onto the delightful fairy path leading to the garden, she laughs full-throated at the sight of Stefan standing apart from the crowd and watching Elena twitter over something with Bonnie, the late afternoon sun spinning gold in their hair and in their dresses. And there, beyond the maze, she can see Rebekah and Damon wearing their patent hurtful smirks, Rebekah in full ruby-bright red and her hair twisted in some complicated knot. Show-off. Damon murmurs something Caroline can't hear, mock-bows and leaves Rebekah furious, smoothly weaving his way through the crowd and towards the bar.

If Damon has to be good at anything, she'll admit that he is very good at ruffling Rebekah's painstakingly colored feathers. It kind of brings her a very special, vindictive brand of joy.

By the time Caroline makes it to Stefan, she has a glass of sparkling water in her hand, and her loose curls are soft at the nape of her neck. It smells overwhelmingly of earth and flora and the sweet edge of summer wines.

"Not a bad way to spend an evening," Stefan says in greeting. "You look nice."

"Thanks. You, too. You know, I'm just hoping there's no Original drama. Or witches. Or weird hybrid stuff. I want a nice, summer ball where I can show off my dress and dance to music and not worry about whatever crazy evil thing is going to overtake the town next."

"Let's not tempt the universe," he says, and she sighs.

"Good point."

"Shall we?" he says, and offers his arm.

"Why, thank you, kind sir," she answers. Her arm loops through his and she laughs at his whispered deadpan comment, and from the corner of her eye she can see Rebekah, in her red dress, staring at them with what looks like unbridled anger, but she lets it float away from her. Caroline only tilts her head back and smiles, the sun warm on her face and her friend at her side, and her ears already picking up the stringed beginnings of a quartet piece and she thinks, warmly, _this is really nice_.

And it is, until everything is ruined.

.

.

.

She spends most of the coming evening with Elena and Bonnie and Stefan; Damon would occasionally step in for a sharp remark and a smirk and be on his way again, and Caroline didn't even care that much. Someone had switched her sparkling water with sparkling wine, bubbles winking over the soft flesh of a summer strawberry, halved and adding a tart sweetness to her tongue. She had danced with Stefan, swayed easily with the girls by the long bar during slower songs, taken a turn with one of the Fell cousins, and now, her throat parched from talking and laughing, she makes her way to the delicate white gazebo at the front of the maze. As the sun sinks lower, it's time for Miss Mystic Falls to meet her escort and follow the maze through to the other side– to show the town's winding Spring ways have turned, and welcoming the first day of summer with open gardens and the promise of long days and easy nights.

Someone endows her with a crown of flowers, and she smiles, big, her Miss Mystic Falls smile, and it strains the corners of her mouth but there's also such _happiness_ there too– today has been one of the best days Caroline's had. There are no spells or curses or murders or feuds, only the magic of the wine winding its own way through her blood, the easy laughs of her friends, the warmth there, the overwhelming _contentment_, and she knows with some strange certainty that they are all going to be okay.

She stands at the gazebo, her pale green dress looking delicate as baby's breath, lace twining over her shoulders, and she smiles, waiting. Someone announces, _...and her escort, Mr. Stefan Salvatore!_ but the crowd doesn't part, and there is no Stefan, there is no one by her side and she is still standing and smiling her Mystic Falls smile and her heartbeat stutters because of _course_ she had to go and jinx everything: nothing ever works out for Caroline Forbes, Miss Mystic Falls, she will always be the girl left standing while her friends are hurt, somewhere, or a spell has been cast, or–

"Fancy meeting you here," says a voice against her ear and she trembles, a little, at the feel of his breath so close to her neck.

Everyone is clapping and Klaus' hand is suddenly at the small of her back, leading her into the maze.

Caroline waits until they've turned a perfectly-trimmed corner and no one can see them, before she stops dead in her tracks and hisses, "What are you doing here!"

"I thought that was obvious, Caroline," he says. His hand is still spread light and large on her back and he pushes her gently so they can continue forward. "I'm escorting Miss Mystic Falls through to the other side of a maze. The _traditions_ you people come up with, really."

"Where's Stefan? What happened to him?"

"Stefan is indisposed– which is a shame, truly. But at least you've an escort, now. You're welcome."

"_Thanks_," she hisses, "but what the hell do you _mean, _'indisposed'?"

"He had a minor disagreement with Rebekah. I'm sure you can imagine how that went; she is awful tempestuous, my little sister. Been that way for centuries."

"Your little sister is a lot of things," Caroline mutters, and when she looks up at Klaus' face his smile is wide, dimpled. In the blood-orange light of the setting sun he looks like a painting from a long, long time ago, perfectly recreated for this moment in the summer air, for her eyes to catch on and then drift away from. They've reached a dead end.

"Perfect," she says, putting her hands on her hips. "A dead end. How the hell does anyone make it through these things, anyway? Who even decided this was a good way to start off the evening?"

Klaus chuckles, low, and the sound of it prickles against her skin, vibrates in her lungs.

"Oh, Caroline," he says in a put-upon voice. "It's a wonder how you make such a good vampire. It's this way, if you'll follow me."

"_Fine_, as long as it's the quickest way out of here."

They reach the end after only a few minutes, but it feels longer than that. It's quiet inside the makeshift labyrinth, and all she can hear is her own breath and the rustle of her dress, the wisping sound of Klaus brushing leaves from her way, the silk slide of his jacket. Far off, crickets are waking, with their hiccuped stringed chirps, and in only these small, short minutes, Caroline is only aware of a flower tickling her forehead and the space between her and this man, leading her easily with practiced turns and light steps, their negative space a strange gap filled with things she's thought and deeds she's done, and above all the strangely desperate why? that she refuses to release from her constricted chest.

His hand finds hers and she begins to pull away, but his hand is soft and warm and they have reached the end of the maze, and he pulls her close to him. He bows, lightly, to the crowd, and she curtsies, and someone passes each of them a flute of sparkling wine and Caroline remembers this part, remembers why she didn't want this to be with a stranger but is now realizing with a resounding peal in her body why it _shouldn't_ be Klaus, but it's too late.

"May the days be long and the music linger– let us dance until the nights lengthen again," Klaus says, with glass raised.

"To summer!" she shouts to the crowd, and they echo her. The air is filled with the sound of clinking glasses and laughter and the light swallow of good wine.

"Cheers," Klaus says, letting their glasses ring together, eyes never leaving hers.

"Cheers," she says, voice small. They are meant to loop their arms, drink from each others' flutes, but before she can think of what to do, someone in the back cries, "Kiss! It's tradition!"

More glasses cling and Caroline's heart stops, her mouth is still shaped in a smile but the corner of it falters, and Klaus' Cheers is still ringing in her ears and she doesn't remember this being part of tradition. No one kissed last year– or maybe they did and she was too busy gossiping or trying to get a boy to notice her and God, look at her now, everyone staring, and the man beside her not a man at all. And her not a girl at all.

"Well, well," he says. "Can't ruin a good tradition."

He leans in, and her eyes close, her breath catches, she smells pine and jasmine and can hear the bubbles fizzing in her wine and then she can feel the brush of his cheek against hers. He presses his lips to her cheek, soft as a rosebud, and she floods with warmth. It's almost as if her blood had rose to meet his mouth, the apples of her cheeks turning human pink.

Her fingers tingle, she isn't sure what to do with the glass in her hands and then he is once again in his own space, separate from her, their negative space slowly filling with things that remain unsaid. She breathes, face flushed, and stares as he smiles in a way she hasn't seen before, something beautiful and sincere, and in case she is going to smile back at him she presses her drink to her lips to hide it. All she can taste is strawberry and the bright pop of the wine, but in the back of her mind she is imagining a sweet dark liquor on her mouth and his eyes shining in candlelight.

Everyone has been absorbed once again by the music, satisfied, and drifting back to the outdoors dance floor, and Klaus lifts his hand, palm up.

"Dance?"

"Okay," she says, and is walking with him before she realizes what's happening.

The strings start up: something happy and uptempo, and he glides her easily between the other couples, swinging them in a four-step that feels simple, like they've been practicing, like all they ever do is dance with one another.

"You look beautiful tonight, Caroline," he says during a twirl, and she can't help the smile that alights her face at the sensation of it, the wind in her hair and the pretty weight of her flower crown, and the feel of twirling in what seems like an endless summer night.

"I'm Miss Mystic Falls," she says primly when she is back in his space. Their steps are sure and they stay in perfect tempo with the booming cello, and she is determined that even now, this will be the best Solstice Ball she's ever had. "It's my job to be the embodiment of summer. It's the Solstice Ball."

"So I've noticed," he says, amused.

A few more bars, a few more steps, and the song is over. Caroline smiles, curtsies. Klaus stares in his unsettling way, bows without breaking eye contact, and in the next moment he is gone, Elena and Bonnie taking his place.

"Caroline!" Elena says. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"I could ask you the same thing! Where's Stefan? What did Miss Original Bitch do to him?"

"Ran him through with one of the wood garlands," Bonnie says, low and irritated.

"Bitch," Caroline breathes.

"He's okay, him and Damon are commiserating, or something. But you're okay?" Elena says.

"Yeah," Caroline says, and confusion rises in the soft corners of her voice. "Why wouldn't I be? It was just a dance."

"We weren't sure if he would try anything while you were in the maze where we couldn't see you."

"Oh," she says. "No, we just walked through. He didn't say anything. Who needs a drink?"

Caroline flags a server with a small flick of her wrist, and they're all holding new flutes of sparkling wine. Elena starts talking about Jeremy, and Bonnie bristles, but listens, and everything smooths out again, a lazy flow of conversation that speaks to their comfort.

Caroline's crown has slid down and tickles her ears; Stefan rejoins them with his jacket conspicuously buttoned all the way up to hide the blood; and the evening is young but the day was long and her mind is buzzing between tonight and a night from weeks ago, between a house on fire and a quiet summer maze, and maybe it's the drinks, or the heat, or maybe she's just losing it, but she can feel his stare burning a mark on her skin. She takes another sip of her drink and tries not to think about how this perfect summer's eve could be so thoroughly and darkly ruined by a few soft words and his lips on her cheek.

Or maybe, worse even than this: that the evening hadn't been ruined at all.


	3. Threat

It's been a full four weeks since the solstice, and summer is in high bloom: the air of Mystic Falls is half mirage, half moisture. Everything is vivid, excruciating– the sky is so blue it goes almost white, the grass and the leaves are on a high-tension string of vibrating green or screaming yellow.

Heat blooms like a forgotten detonation, a wave of sticky tropic air rising from unseen corners and cocooning it to your body, a fresh second skin that feels red-orange and raw. Outdoors, sweat appears instantaneously, as if the sun is pulling the precious water of your body straight through your pored skin and into the air so it can hang there in tiny, invisible patterns: humidity made from your own island self.

Caroline watches sprinklers spray great shining walls of mist that catch the light in neighboring yards, safe from her living room couch. The fan above her makes a dull click with each slow revolution, and the cool, dry air is pushing hair across her face in a lazy, time-stop way that makes the day feel melted and endless.

They're only halfway through summer break, and already she feels like she won't manage to swim through the rest to emerge bright and fresh for the next school year.

It feels like _forever_, but she ignores the sudden stomach-drop thought of it.

She's just so _bored_.

Her phone vibrates, loud, on the coffee table.

"Thank God," she says to her empty living room.

It's Elena. There's a fair in town tonight, and she wants to go. She wants to try to do as many normal, teenage things as possible– or, well, whatever the new normal is because _hello_, this is _Mystic Falls_ we're talking about here.

Caroline hesitates; she feels guilt, heavy and painful in her chest, in her arms and her bones, as if she is turning to stone. The last time the fair was here–

But she's a different person, now. She can control herself better than every other vampire she knows. No one is going to get hurt. It will be a night of bright lights and silly rides and stupid ring tosses, and now, imagining the cooler evening air and the phantom taste of sugar in her mouth she realizes it's just what she needs.

She says yes, of course she'll go, but who planned it? What? _Becky_ planned it, seriously? Who gave her that job? This is _so_ going to be a disaster, I bet she forgot about the prizes, no, seriously Elena! She's such a space case!

The sun is still high and bright and simmering in the sky when Caroline ends the call and they've said their goodbyes. She flops back onto the couch to hear the dull click of the fan and feel cool air brush her face, and thinks about funnel cake and ferris wheels and how much summer she has left to spend.

And when the sun sets, guttering out on the horizon in a fiery parade of reds and pinks and burnt yellows, she leaves the house and heads to the center of town. But there is, unbeknownst to her, a dark shadow which stays a few steps behind her the entire way, silent and out of sight.

.

.

.

It's a balmy honey-and-mud evening. The air is warm but the breeze pulls hair away from the nape of her neck in a sweet arc of pale blonde, a gentle wave that covers her bare shoulder. Sweat is already beginning to shine at her temples and the white valley of her throat. Lights are glowing through the summer night up ahead, wrapping around trees and floating with delicate symmetry above everything and everyone. The low whine of trumpet and short bursts of piano filter through the air and the lights and the trees to brush against her skin. Distantly, laughter and sugar spin together.

The fair.

Caroline straightens her shoulders, pulls herself into what she imagines is perfect ballet posture, and fixes on her best Miss Mystic Falls smile. She can _so_ do this. She heads toward the source of the music and the laughter and the honey-sweet smell hanging in the air. And all the while, the shadow remains silent, invisible.

.

.

.

She finds Elena first, standing comfortable and close at Damon's side, her head tilted back and smiling at the towering ferris wheel. Caroline ignores Damon entirely when she greets Elena.

"I'm going up," Elena says, still smiling. "Want to come? Mystic Falls is really pretty from way up there."

Damon, flushed in black and the evening creating sharp shadows across his face, looks as if he could melt into the night at any given moment. His stance is casual, friendly almost, but Caroline can pick up the string of tension spinning itself in his shoulders, and his body is angled in a way she has seen before. He's trying to protect Elena.

God, what is it this time?

Caroline can feel the night ringing in her ears, soaking in her blood. The air is sticky with cotton candy and bodies and the sound of popping kettle corn, but beyond that she can't sense anything; there is no the telltale prickle of magic in her veins or even the heavy dark of foreboding in her lungs. She glances at the ferris wheel, sees couples and siblings and friends sitting in their swinging cars and pointing to some unknowable place in the distance.

An idea dawns.

"Yes!" she says– a little belatedly if Elena's shining eyes are any indication. "Sorry, I was just somewhere else. But yes, definitely save me a spot in line! Just a sec though, I think I left my phone in the car. I will be _right_ back."

"Of course," Elena says. There's concern there but she heads towards the line despite it. Damon moves to follow her but Caroline steps in his way.

"Not you."

"_What_," he says, voice flat. "Am I not allowed to go on the ferris wheel, too? Nothing says summer fun like swinging in a plastic pod on something that looks like it was built from a Lego kit. Where's your spirit of adventure, Caroline?"

"Shut up," she says, "and tell me what's going on."

"What makes you think-"

"Damon, I swear to _God_, if you don't tell me, I will rip your so-called heart out of your stupid chest and make you _eat it_."

"Fine. Jesus, you're annoying."

"Just spill."

"There's a new vampire in town. He dropped by, gave us a formal invitation to 'partake in the blood of the night.' Must be somewhere around six or seven hundred, at least, judging by the amount of crazy in his eyes. Clearly he hasn't aged very well, I mean who says _partake in the blood of the night?_"

"So what does this have to do with Elena?"

"Take a wild guess. When I say 'hasn't aged very well,' I don't mean he still thinks the telegraph is the latest advance in technology. I mean he's too far gone to care about anything besides what he wants. Which is blood. And maybe it escaped your peppy little world view, but Elena is full of blood, and anything new in this town just seems _intent_ on her, for whatever fucking reason. The universe is a scary, evil bitch."

"Great. What are _we_ supposed to do about it? Where's Stefan?"

"Stefan, my dutiful, thick, naive little basket-case of a brother is trying to ply _Klaus_ for help, as if _that's_ gonna do any good. He thinks the only thing capable of stopping that kind of nuts is a quick little hybrid nip. Meanwhile, I'm on babysitting duty."

"Fine. I'll try to get a hold of Bonnie, maybe she can do something witchy to track him, make sure he doesn't start hurting people."

"Just what we need," he sighs. "The little witch that could. And don't be so optimistic, you're giving me a headache."

"Shut up," Caroline says automatically. But Damon is already at Elena's side, now right at the front of the line. They're the next ones to go up. Caroline watches as they're let through the turnstile and climb into a ferris car. She turns, digs her phone from her pocket and scrolls for Bonnie's number, stepping away from the thickening crowd.

The shadow, solid at the edges and rapidly filling to become something with weight and measure, also steps from the crowd. Caroline can feel it behind her. She texts Stefan and Bonnie as quickly as she can:

_He's at the fair. Come now._

She hits send, and there's a sharp pain at her temple. And then, suddenly, there is nothing at all.

No one sees the dark figure sweeping Caroline away from the crowd.

.

.

.

She comes to in pieces, staggered. First, the pain: a slow burn in her entire body; the itching unnatural crush of bone mending; the vine growth of muscle and sinew and nerve; the unholy sting of thirst at the edges of her throat, sharp and unmistakeable; and the full-bloom swelling ache of her head, a pulsing bomb of pain fresh and new with every pump of her slow heart.

"Ow," she says. A breath of movement, the pins-and-needle feeling of awareness returning to her mind and her fingers.

"You're awake," a man's voice says. Things bleed into Caroline's periphery and the back of her memory: burning lights, a ferris wheel, Elena's dark eyes, Damon–

A flood, suddenly, of immediate and crushing understanding. The vampire. The one that Damon had so flippantly mentioned. Caroline's eyes open wide and full, adjust to the settling night. She's sitting in a bed of pine needles and dirt and something akin to fury. Her back is against the trunk of a tree, the thick scent of earth and her own blood nigh overwhelming in the quiet and the stillness of the woods, and... _Seriously?_ Why is she always the one who gets kidnapped? _God_. Stefan and Bonnie better have gotten her text.

"Alina," the man says. His voice is accented; something old and slavic. His back is to her. He's standing a few feet away and staring into the dark of the woods, the light of the half moon barely giving him an outline. Wow, Kidnapping 101 really passed this one by.

Caroline carefully stretches her fingers, places her palms flat on the soft ground. If she can just get up without him noticing–

"_Alina_," he tuts, disapproving. He's already crouched down in front of her, too quickly for her to even track the movement. Great.

His eyes are dark, almost black, and his face half-shadowed and sharp. He looks barely older than 30, but there's something wild in his face, something strange and electric that puts her on edge.

"Alina. Miláčku, je to už hodně let."

Caroline meets his gaze, strong and steady despite the darkness of it prickling her skin. She spits blood from her mouth and says, with as much disdain as she can manage, "I don't speak Russian, asshole."

He tuts again. He leans closer, and his fingers brush errant strands of hair from her face with an unnerving gentility. She tilts her head back to distance herself from his touch, a soft noise of disgust or fear escaping from between her teeth without thought. "You forget," he says, oblivious. He sighs, heavy, and hangs his head for a moment. Then he unfurls, long and sinuous and easy, to stand towering over her. He looks down at her as if she is something to be studied.

"You will remember, miláčku. The days we slept away. The nights we hunted. The blood and the fear. A sweet smell."

"Yeah, I don't think so. I'm not a meelatch-ku either, whatever that means."

"My _love_," he says grandly. "_Milàčku_."

Caroline digs her fingers into the earth, feels her head finish mending, and lets the tree at her back guide her into a standing position. Her legs feel as if they've been struck by lightning, coiling with energy and restlessness. Adrenaline.

"Let's make some things clear, okay? One: My name is not Alina." Caroline shifts, only slightly, but lets her senses rise up to full wakefulness. She can still hear the distant bustle of people and machinery at the fair. Somewhere to the west of where she is, maybe a few miles.

"Two: I am _not_ your love. I'm spoken for."

He's silent. Blood is drying at her temple. The night is thick and all-encompassing– no crickets or owls, no summer breeze to rustle the leaves. No sign of the cavalry. She feels a jolt of that same restless energy shoot through her limbs. If she can get closer to town, Damon and Elena could see her from the top of the ferris wheel, or at least hear her. Three had to be better than one against an insane Russian, right?

The vampire watches her closely for a few seconds, as though he can make out her half-formed planned as it floats gently and tangled in the front of her mind. He opens his mouth to say something, probably something _totally_ creepy if the past five minutes have been anything to go by, but she doesn't hear it. She's already running.

.

.

.

"We should split up," Stefan says. Caroline's phone is in his hand, the screen cracked. Klaus scans the oblivious crowd around them, eyes sharp as sin. Damon had already dragged Elena away from the fair, to check if Caroline had gone home. There is an invisible tear in the fabric of the night, a strange yawning gap of what should have happened, and what actually did. Klaus' fingers curl into the palms of his hands, and there is something contained there, a violence yet woken.

"Yes," Klaus says, voice easy, eyes still sharp. It sleeps there in his hands, what he'd like to do to the one who has taken her, his Caroline. "Let us split up."

.

.

.

She barely makes it a half mile. He's _fast_, and she can't be sure if that's his age showing or if she's still healing.

He catches her easily by the throat. Her feet swing dangerously above the ground, her fingers scratching against the iron grip around her throat.

"A new love? A _new love?_ Tell me, Alina. Who now calls you milàčku?"

"Get. _Off_," she murmurs. She kicks out furiously, but it makes no difference to him. He shakes her a little with irritation, simple as if she was a rag doll. Her vision is beginning to go strange and spotty. Her ears are ringing. She's going to pass out and then–

Oh God, and then what?

Caroline swings her legs up at an almost ninety degree angle, and hooks her feet around his neck. She twists with as much force as she can. He loosens his grip in surprise and they both tumble: Caroline lands hard on the ground, her captor unsteady with one knee on the ground.

"_Who_," he says, voice thick and dangerous.

Caroline scrambles backwards, stands and reaches out for something–anything–to use against him. And then: What is she _thinking_? C'mon Caroline you're in a _forest_, stakes are _literally_ growing on trees. Ugh.

Just as she's about to break off a particularly stake-worthy branch, she looks past the Russian vampire to see a dark figure approaching. Apparently he's too far gone to hear–or maybe he just doesn't care– because his eyes are still focused on her, still has his right knee in the dirt, uncaring. "WHO!" he yells.

That's what she'd like to know. Is it Stefan? Or wait, no, it's–

"Klaus," she breathes, and the relief that follows is so swift and strong that it runs through her veins like a current.

The man laughs, high and unexpected. But Caroline's slow-growing smile makes it catch in his throat.

"You don't mean the first? Prvotní?" He stands, angry.

Klaus steps soundlessly from the shadowed night, casual and lethal in equal measures. There is no light to illuminate his face but she can still see him in perfect detail, a film-grain clarity that rings in her bones.

"I'm afraid she does," Klaus says. "Dobrý večer, old friend."

Klaus, faster than sight, cracks a branch from a tree. It snaps like dry tinder under his fingers. In under a second Klaus stands behind him, and the branch finds its home between the vampire's unused lungs. He cries out, then silences, blood at his lip.

"Fancy seeing you here," Klaus continues. "Now, what I would like to know is if there's a _reason_ you're in my town. And without even a drop by to say hello, now that is _very_ rude. Have you forgotten the old ways? Have you forgotten, old friend, what I am?"

"Niklaus, my–"

Klaus twists the branch, and the words become wordless, become instead the howl of something inhuman.

"It was a rhetorical question, mate. Now don't move, there's a good lad."

He's at Caroline's side, suddenly, and she almost flinches back until she feels that it's him, it's Klaus. His hands find her face, cradles it as if she could be broken. He is so, so gentle.

And then he's kissing her. It's immediate and all-consuming and she melts in his hands, finds her mouth opening and God just the _heat_ of him is burning her down to her core. The down of his scruff scratches her skin pink, and his rose-dark bottom lip is full and ripe between hers and this feels a lot like when they were dancing, when they were easy, in sync, perfect. Something like want is coloring her thoughts red, and pulls him closer, presses herself further into him. For a second she thinks she feels him stumble closer, as if he's come undone. He tastes like a dark wine.

And then it's over. His eyes are searching her face, wild, sharp and bright. And there's hope in them too, and it makes something inside of her falter.

"Um," she says.

"_No_. Alina, ne. Nerozumim!"

Klaus' eyes go, somehow, dark and furious almost instantly. A veil shutters over them and he is once again cold, posture stiff.

His hand is inside the man's chest. He can feel the strange red thick of it, the wet muscle of his heart, and squeezes as he says, quiet as the night, "Ona je moje."

And then, the heart in his hand, he pulls it out of the man's chest, and then drops it, almost carelessly, where it makes a dull thud on the forest floor. Stefan and Damon appear from the dark, and at the sight of Klaus, the fight drops from their shoulders.

"Well that ought to do it," says Damon. "A little anti-climactic."

"Where's Caroline?" says Stefan.

"Here," she says, her voice even. "Klaus beat you to it."

"Well, I do think that went over fairly well. Though next time, Stefan, you need my help, I'll want something in return. And Caroline, try not to get into so much trouble. I do have other things to tend to."

"Oh right, like I _asked_ for this to happen! Some crazy vampire who thinks I'm his long lost love knocks me unconscious at a fair, and it's how I want to spend my night? Ugh! I'm going home."

"You're welcome, Caroline," Klaus says, and the words float over her skin as she stalks away.

"_Thanks_," she says, quiet and angry and under her breath, unsure of the strange mass of feelings throbbing in her chest. Her lips burn and her hair is mussed, and this should have been a normal evening, with _normal_ teenage things, and now–

And now, again, she is left with the ghost of Klaus' mouth on hers, a burn in her lungs, and a dark taste on her tongue.

Great.

* * *

**A/N:**

Crazy vampire guy probably should have been Russian, but he's Czech. Because I know more Czech than Russian. I'm not even that great at Czech either, so without further ado... some undoubtedly faulty translations:

Miláčku, je to už hodně let - My love, it's been many years  
Prvotní - Original  
Dobrý večer - Good evening  
Ne. Nerozumim - No. I don't understand  
Ona je moje - She is mine


End file.
